On Holidays
by Antebellum Innocence
Summary: Every time Jack started to think there was nothing more he could learn about his roommates... Halloween humor, AU, and fourth-wall breakage. Now with added Christmas festivities!
1. Chapter 1

_author's note._ I don't know where this AU came from, but here it is. Happy Halloween, everyone. xD

_disclaimer._ I think it's pretty obvious that I do not own anything relating to _Lord of the Flies_.

* * *

Every time Jack started to think there was nothing more he could learn about his roommates, something like this happened. He had woken up at four in the morning one day in September to the sound of thumping outside the house. Assuming there was a burglar skulking about, he gingerly got out of bed, crept over to the closet, and grabbed a baseball bat that belonged to Ralph's nephew. He went downstairs, fully prepared to save all their lives (or at the very least, their belongings), and saw not a home invader but Simon, carting an enormous pumpkin from Roger's truck to the stoop.

"What the hell," he said.

Simon looked up from the pumpkin. "Morning, Jack!" he said cheerfully. "Why've you got Billy's baseball bat?"

"I thought you were a burglar! What are you _doing_?" Jack exclaimed, shooting a glare at the oversized orange vegetable as if he blamed it for the disturbance. Simon just stared at him for a moment, apparently under the delusion that this was normal behavior.

"I'm decorating! Halloween is only two months away, and we need to get a head start on all the neighbors."

Of course the Christ figure would be the one who loved Halloween. Of course.

Jack had spent the past two months in one holiday supply store after another. Not a single weekend had passed without Simon dragging the entire household to some kind of autumn harvest fair, which almost no one really wanted to attend. While Ralph and Simon darted from stand to stand, Jack ranted to Roger about "the things I do for these people." The twins showed up and wandered off to try to pick up girls.

Now, on the morning of the damned holiday, Jack was actually starting to get excited, if for no other reason than because Simon would stop carving pumpkins, getting the gloop all over Jack's beautiful kitchen, and refusing to clean it up. They had about seventeen bags of candy sitting next to the front door, and Simon was parked in a nearby chair. He didn't seem to be planning on moving from that spot all day.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Jack asked wearily.

"There are more important things in life than such menial labor," replied Simon, sounding greatly affronted. He was still in a huff because Jack had vetoed his plan for them all to dress up as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Well, three dwarves; five if Sam and Eric decided to forgo the Halloween party at Tom's Pub and help their strange friend hand out candy to passing children (unlikely).

"You are a lunatic," said Jack, grabbing his jacket and heading off to his job at the cafe. Simon ignored him.

When Jack returned from work, thoroughly tired of making pumpkin lattes, he found Simon still sitting in that chair. He had apparently put all the candy in one large bowl. Ralph was in the kitchen, cooking pasta. "Happy Halloween, Jack," he said pleasantly, stirring a pot of sauce on the stove with a smirk.

"Oh, sod off," Jack sighed.

The frustrated redhead finally collapsed on the couch next to Roger, who was watching horror movies on their little television. He did his best to ignore the intermittent knocking on their door as costumed children came to the house.

This went on for some time; Ralph, seeing that Simon was too preoccupied, Jack too tired, and Roger too engrossed in gory special effects to come to the kitchen, ladled out pasta and sauce onto plates and handed them out. He then went back to the kitchen and ate his own plate, occasionally making loud comments about how his horrible, insensitive roommates were forcing him to eat alone. It was a testament to how tired Jack was that he did not at any point call Ralph out on behaving like a nagging housewife.

At some point during the night, the terrified screaming from the TV must have lulled Jack to sleep, because when he awoke on the couch at three in the morning, the house was dark and Roger and Ralph were nowhere to be found. Grumbling to himself about selfish people who left you sleeping on the couch all night, he got up and was on his way upstairs, when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure next to the door.

Maybe he'd been watching too many horror movies. Maybe the ungodly hour was playing tricks on him, or maybe he was hallucinating from exhaustion. Whatever the case, Jack was immediately convinced that a serial killer had broken into the house and was about to murder them all in disgusting, brutal fashions. He looked wildly around in search of a weapon, and only found his dinner plate. He sighed. Of course.

Brandishing the plate threateningly, he rushed towards the door and let out some attempt at a quiet war cry, trying not to wake Roger and Ralph. Jack was the best hunter of the bunch; the others would only get in the way. "Get out of my house, you - Simon?"

The young man in question was still sitting next to the door with his giant bowl of candy, watching the street outside with bloodshot eyes. "Shh!" he muttered frantically, flapping a hand in Jack's direction. "I think there are more children coming!"

"Oh, bloody hell," Jack whisper-shouted, "it's three in the morning! There are _no more children coming_!" Simon stubbornly refused to acknowledge him. Finally, Jack clapped a hand to his forehead and sat down next to him.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Jack said, "It's kind of funny that you of all people would be this invested in Halloween."

"And why is that?" Simon asked, raising an eyebrow and looking slightly offended.

"I mean, you know... you're the Christ figure of the book and all. The Christ figure obsessed with a pagan holiday, it's amusing."

Simon exhaled sharply. "Oh. Well, I'm glad I'm just a symbol to you," he snapped, clumsily unwrapping a square of chocolate and shoving it into his mouth.

"What?" Jack responded, entirely bewildered. He had assumed that living in an all-male house would mean he wouldn't have to deal with this kind of PMSing, but apparently that was not the case.

The younger boy swallowed the chocolate square and frowned at him. "You don't get it," he said flatly. "Ralph knows what I'm talking about!"

Jack sighed again. For some reason, the prospect of being second-best to Ralph still annoyed him years later. "Yeah, well, Ralph is asleep right now. What don't I get?" he asked, too tired to argue.

This seemed to take Simon by surprise. "Well, it's like..." he began, then stopped to collect his thoughts. After a pause, he continued, "It's like, some guy wrote me as the symbol of goodness in his novel, and now I can't do anything less than saintly without someone telling me I'm acting out-of-character! Like how Ralph has to take care of us and listen to all your ideas - which by the way, are terrible."

"Thanks," Jack said sarcastically.

"Anyway," Simon said, ignoring his interruption, "it's because he symbolizes democracy and leadership. He can't just tell everyone to shut up, because that would be undemocratic. So he puts up with it. You've got the easy part - you're anarchy! You can do whatever you want! It's just... being one-dimensional really takes a lot out of you. I'm more than just a stand-in for Jesus, you know!"

"Believe me, I already knew that," Jack replied, smirking at him. Simon shot him a withering glare. "But I... uh. I... I see what you're trying to say, I guess."

Simon's glare melted into a wan smile before returning to its usual pseudo-innocent look. "You're really bad at apologizing," he commented.

"Who said I was apologizing? I'm anarchy, I do what I want. God, why do you always have to believe the best about people?"

Seeing the stricken expression on Simon's face, Jack gave a tired grin and stood up. "Happy Halloween," he said, ruffling the boy's hair and going upstairs.

* * *

The next morning, Jack thanked Ralph when the fair-haired man pushed a plate of pancakes across the table to him. Ralph looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered before he drowned Simon's breakfast in maple syrup. It seemed that things were finally back to normal, Jack thought contentedly, flipping through the newspaper...

A crash sounded outside in the front yard.

Jack sprang out of his chair, clutching the rolled-up newspaper like a sword, and went outside, Simon right behind him. Even Ralph put down the pancakes and followed them.

There was a ladder lying in the grass, and next to it, Roger was tangled in a long cord dotted with small white lights. "What are you _doing_?" Jack exclaimed, making confused, furious gestures with the newspaper.

"Decorating," Roger said, staring up at him as if Jack were the crazy one. "Christmas is less than two months away!"


	2. Chapter 2

_author's note._ I had to. Merry Christmas, everyone.

_disclaimer._ I don't own Lord of the Flies. I also do not own "It's a Wonderful Life," "A Christmas Story," or a Red Ryder BB gun.

* * *

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, falalalala, lalalala..." Roger sang in a low, chilling voice as he loaded the Christmas tree with baubles until it looked like it was about to topple over.

Jack Merridew fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears. It wasn't like he had anything against Christmas - it was a lovely holiday (though if anyone could be called the Scrooge of the group, it would be him), but Roger had been singing these damned carols for nearly two whole months, and he thought everyone might be starting to lose their minds.

It was hard to find Ralph anymore, since he was out buying enormous amounts of presents all the time. As a result, the quality of their meals had suffered dramatically, because Ralph was the only one who could cook. Simon had apparently reverted to age five, trying to make sure they would have a White Christmas despite Jack's insisting that he had no power over meteorological phenomena. And Roger was not only blasting Christmas music from the radio every moment of the day, but decorating a gigantic tree, choking the house with strings of lights, and even volunteering as the Santa for the town's biggest department store.

Two days before Christmas, they got a package in the mail from Ralph's grandmother, and a darkness immediately descended over the household. Ralph unwrapped it with a solemn grimace on his face, revealing a large rectangular fruitcake. Jack and Roger, who were both peering over his shoulder, gaped in horror.

"Why, Grandma Rose, why?" Ralph lamented.

Every year at Christmastime, Ralph's grandmother sent the young men a fruitcake. "Don't eat it!" Ralph had cried the first time it happened, but Jack and Roger made the mistake of ignoring him. After both of them had failed to digest the evil thing, however, they changed their minds. The fruitcake was rock solid, and had a rancid smell unlike anything that Jack had ever experienced. The three of them stood around the kitchen table, unsure of what to do next.

"Just throw it out," Roger suggested, a note of actual fear in his usually emotionless voice.

Ralph shook his head in a panic. "No, she'll know! I don't know how, but she'll find out," he insisted. Jack reached out a finger and poked the fruitcake, then drew back a second later as if it had bitten him.

They all stood and stared at it.

It was at that moment that Simon, who had been out in the front yard this whole time doing a "snow dance" to call up inclement weather for the holiday, came into the kitchen. He was in red and green from head to toe and wearing a reindeer hat, complete with antlers, and a very disgruntled expression. Grumbling to himself and oblivious to Jack, Ralph, and Roger's horrified warnings, he broke off a piece of the fruitcake and popped it in his mouth.

Roger cringed. Jack averted his eyes. Ralph, who was more used to dealing with the Killer Fruitcake, had the presence of mind to pick up the garbage can and place it next to Simon. But as it turned out, none of these things were necessary.

Simon chewed the fruitcake thoughtfully, then swallowed. He frowned. "It's a little dry," he said simply. From out of nowhere, choirs of angels began singing their praises - then Jack realized that it was just the radio, playing Handel's Messiah. Shrugging, Simon left the room, his three housemates staring awestruck after him.

"You know, I've got the best present for him," Ralph said the next day, Christmas Eve. He and Jack were looking through the front window, watching Simon try to summon a blizzard.

"What's that?" Jack asked.

"I think it's a magic staff," Ralph replied, referring to the long beam of wizened wood that Simon was now waving through the air.

Jack glowered at him. "Not the staff, the present!"

"Oh," Ralph said. "Like I'd tell you."

Eventually, the blonde man went back into the kitchen to cook dinner, which Jack was happy about because it meant that they wouldn't be eating TV dinners again. He, however, stayed by the window, frowning pensively at Simon. The idea of being second-best to Ralph still hit a nerve with Jack. Surely _his_ present would be _far superior_, right? Right?

His train of thought was interrupted, though, when Roger pulled up in his truck, still wearing his Santa costume. He was carrying something long and thin over his shoulder; as he came closer to the house, it became gradually clearer what that something was. "Oh Jesus," Jack said, "he's got a gun."

Ralph, in the kitchen, apparently heard this comment. "What? Who's got a gun?" he called, rushing out with an oven mitt still on his hand. "Oh my God," he said as soon as he caught sight of Roger.

Roger marched into the house, brushing dark hair out of his eyes. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT," Ralph accused. Ordinarily, Jack was annoyed when Ralph went into control freak mode, but the idea of leaving Roger alone with a weapon was so disturbing that he decided not to intervene.

"It's for Billy," Roger explained. "He came to the department store today and asked for it." For months, Ralph's nephew, Billy, had been begging for a Red Ryder BB gun. Jack could only assume that Roger sympathized with the boy's plight.

"What?" Ralph shrieked. "You are not giving my nephew a BB gun! He'll shoot his eye out!"

Jack figured it was best to slip into the kitchen and get a head start on the turkey.

He made himself a sandwich with a large helping of hot turkey, drizzling brown gravy over the masterpiece, and plopped down on the couch in front of their little television to watch "It's a Wonderful Life." Eventually Simon came in from outside, shivering and grumbling that the snow was just waiting for the right moment to fall, and joined him. He could still hear Ralph and Roger arguing in the next room.

At some point that night, Jack fell asleep on the couch again, probably due to some mixture of exhaustion and the turkey. He woke in the early hours of Christmas morning to the sound of movement somewhere in the house. Simon had apparently fallen asleep as well, his head drooping onto Jack's shoulder. Gingerly disentangling himself so as not to wake the younger up, Jack crept out of the room in search of the sound's origin. "Roger? Ralph?" he called, and started to become suspicious when, in response, there was a scrambling in the kitchen. So, to the kitchen he went, flicking the light on.

"Agh!" shouted Jack.

"Agh!" shouted the burglar, clutching a box of Ralph's great-aunt's jewelry.

After that, everything happened pretty fast. The burglar leaped onto the kitchen counter and tried to open a window to climb out to freedom. Jack looked frantically around for some kind of weapon, and grabbed the first dangerous-looking thing he saw.

It wasn't a plate.

It wasn't a knife.

It was a fruitcake.

Jack flung the leftover part of Ralph's grandmother's rock-hard fruitcake at the home intruder, whacking him with great force in the side of the head. The man dropped the box of jewelry and fell to the floor, out cold. Then Roger appeared in the kitchen doorway with Billy's BB gun in his hands, Simon and Ralph close behind him.

They all stared open-mouthed at the scene. "Happy Christmas," Jack said, and went to pour himself a glass of brandy.

Ralph called the police, who arrived some time later to take the burglar into custody. In the meantime, Roger kept the gun trained on the man, looking more than a little disappointed that he didn't get the chance to use it.

"Well then," Simon said cheerily once the sirens had faded away. "Time to open gifts?" It seemed that he had reverted to childishness in more ways than one. It also seemed that Jack had accidentally forgotten to buy Ralph a present. Oh well.

Things went about as expected; Roger gave Ralph a new set of kitchen knives and Jack a face-painting kit, and watched their worried expressions with a sadistic grin. Ralph bought Roger some scented aromatherapy candles, which he must have hoped might prevent the man from attacking anyone, and gave Jack a pair of garish Christmas socks.

Simon opened Jack's present first, at the redhead's demand, sportingly ignoring the airholes in the box and acting appropriately surprised when a ginger kitten poked its head out and looked up at him. Ralph's gift was next - Simon pulled the wrapping paper away to reveal a knit sweater in a horrible mustard yellow color, with a clumsily-sewn red heart on the front. He burst into laughter, the kind of laughter trigged by an inside joke of some sort.

Jack's eye began to twitch a little as Simon continued to laugh so uproariously that he had to lean on Ralph for support. "Better than yours," the blonde mouthed while Simon wasn't looking. Jack ignored Ralph's triumphant grin and stroked the kitten.

"I've got something even better," Roger interrupted. Simon wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and glanced over at the Santa-hat-wearing man. "Look out the window," he advised. Simon did so, and gasped audibly.

Outside, snowflakes were falling from the sky and coating the lawn as the sun rose over the tops of the houses. "It's perfect!" Simon exclaimed, and dashed off to find his boots. "This is the best gift I've ever gotten!" he said to Roger as he passed.

Jack and Ralph just stood there, open-mouthed, until Roger came up between them and slung an arm over each one's shoulder. "Happy Christmas," he said brightly. "I'm off to give Billy his present." And off he went, singing "Joy to the World" all the way to his truck.

Ralph looked at Jack. Jack looked back.

"I think "It's a Wonderful Life" is playing again," Jack said.

Ralph sighed. "I'll get the brandy."


End file.
